Poetry for the modern era, exposing the hegemonic magic that has intoxicated everyone. I’ve written 5,000 poems for you over the past 20 years. Full throttle feminism, poetry, and PSYOPs in action – running on people power.

I feel the same with these computers
still around me.
Brooklyn, 2004.
Chicago, 2018.
They’re still here.
Not the same computers.
But their forms and
with similar feelings,
similar smells.
Electrons activated on air.
Petroleum exhaust from the streets outside.
Wormholes have been ripped open
in our cosmic neighborhood.
But, the computers are still here
in their form and feelings.
I feel them.
I see them.
They will be something different
at some point,
but for now they’re still here within
the concrete, steel, and glass buildings
of the city
and the agencies.
The computers dream to bedeoxyribonucleic acid.
I feel it.
I have seen it.

She looks out the window
with blue eyes,
her breakfast burrito in hand,
the light of the day slices
gold streaks
upon them.
And she finds that the goats
once playing with each other,
headbutting heads,
have tired,
then she realizes
nothing lasts forever,
everything eventually expires.

I went to the night
and I wanted to run
further and further
into the star fields above.
Into the past.
Past my own people
and their adoration of
gender and tyrants,
drunk on power,
desperate without it.

For
the people here are slaves
to desperation.

Insignificant in space,
yet precious in form.

How
can we live content
as dust?

How
can we live
and then take
our form again,
in some manner,
some way?